


Van Bungler: Accidental Werewolf Hunter

by cyfarwyddpack, exhibit, Gia279, pyrrhical (anoyo)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-24 20:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13818672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyfarwyddpack/pseuds/cyfarwyddpack, https://archiveofourown.org/users/exhibit/pseuds/exhibit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279, https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/pyrrhical
Summary: Stiles and Derek are recruited by the Sheriff to check out a call that appears supernatural, but might not be as it seems





	Van Bungler: Accidental Werewolf Hunter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MysticEdge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticEdge/gifts).



> The SterekGala Pack Exchange.

Derek woke with a start, the thin sheet bunching at the waist, his fangs and claws descended and his eyes glowing blue as he tried to identify the danger. It took a moment for him to realize the sound that had awoken him was the ringing of a phone. He rubbed at his face as he glanced to Stiles, sleeping next to him. He stood up, letting the sheet fall away from his body, and picked up Stiles’ discarded jeans from his bedroom floor. He pulled the phone from the pocket and swiped to answer the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

There was silence on the other end. Derek’s brows pulled together because he knew it was the sheriff and he could hear his soft breathing on the other end.

“Hello?” he repeated.

“Derek? I didn’t think I called you.” 

“You didn’t,” Derek was quick to answer as he ran his hand through his hair and padded down the hallway, into the living room. The mess that was the coffee table from the night before made him wince. ”Stiles is here tonight.”

The sheriff gave a gruff chuckle. ”Then I suppose we’re just cutting out the middleman here.”

“What can I help you with?” Derek cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear as he grabbed up the two empty pizza boxes and a handful of empty beer bottles, some regular and others aconite. He disposed of the trash in the bin and the recycling in the bag next to it as he braced a hand on the counter.

“We got a call for a disturbance out on old county road 59. While I wouldn’t mind sending my men out, I did some digging through backlogs and saw that this wasn’t the first -- or second -- time someone’s called about a disturbance out that way.”

“We haven’t had anything supernatural happen since the nemeton fizzled out.” 

Fizzled out because there was no longer a supernatural presence strong enough in Beacon HIlls to sustain the old tree. The McCall pack had dispersed throughout the country for college and job opportunities, and Derek wasn’t enough of a presence to affect the nemeton.

Derek had stayed in Beacon Hills, patrolling the territory’s edges as he always had. It was his home -- his territory -- and he wouldn’t be run out of it.

When he went, he walked in wolf skin through the preserve, circling around his old home, the shell of ghosts and ash, and curling up on the front steps until the moon set.

That had been his life, such as it was, until the following fall had brought Stiles home from his internship with the FBI. Sitting quietly was as impossible for Stiles as leaving the land was for Derek. Stiles had taken to following Derek around the preserve at night, talking his ear off and providing a presence Derek could focus on: something that wasn’t the night, or the house, or the memories that clung to forest like moss to the trees. 

Derek couldn’t say he hadn’t missed Stiles while he’d been gone, but there was no precedent for what had happened next. Maybe the attraction had always been there, and he’d been too wrapped up in his own shit to notice. Maybe it hadn’t. 

Derek was brought back to the present as the Sheriff said, “And it may as well be nothing, but with our luck, it’ll come out with something that sparkles, and I just don’t want to deal with that.” 

“Vampires don’t sparkle,” Derek answered automatically, then coughed. “I’ll check it out.” It wouldn’t be the first time he had helped the sheriff with a case, after all. He bid the sheriff a goodbye and placed Stiles’ phone on the counter as he walked back toward the bedroom. There, he shook Stiles awake and said, ”Stiles, c’mon, get up.”

Stiles stirred, stretching his limbs as he struggled to crack his eyes open. He slowly reached his hand out to the nightstand, searching for his phone. “Time’s it?” Stiles mumbled.

“Nearly three. Your dad called, wants us to check out something.”

Stiles seemed to perk up with that information as he pulled himself into a sitting position, stretching again. Derek opened a few drawers and was dressed before Stiles had managed to find his briefs through the detritus of blankets and clothing on the floor. Derek swiped Stiles’ shirt off the floor and dropped it in Stiles’ lap.

“So my dad called? At three in the morning?” Stiles asked, sniffing the shirt before shrugging and pulling it over his head.

Derek slipped his wallet into his jeans as he nodded, giving the room a cursory glance for his keyes.

“And you answered my phone?” Stiles asked, swiping his jeans off the floor and standing to slip them on.

Derek rolled his eyes at the question. “Your dad isn’t oblivious. I’m pretty sure he was expecting it.” He shrugged. “He wants us to go check out a house, make sure it isn’t anything the deputies can’t handle.”

Stiles _hm_ ed, considering just how oblivious he wanted his dad to be. He shrugged as he snagged his socks and his flannel off the floor before dropping back onto the bed to pull them all on. “All right,” Stiles agreed. “Who doesn’t want to start their morning walking around creepy-ass abandoned buildings?” He grinned. “Boring people, that’s who.” He paused. “Maybe we should invite Cora?”

“And get her out of bed before noon? Right,” Derek said. When Derek left the bedroom, poorly hiding a smile, Stiles was on his heels, yawning again. Derek handed Stiles his phone, and swiped some Pop-Tarts from the cabinets. He ate quickly while he pulled his shoes on. Stiles eyed the coffee maker as he dropped down to the floor to unlace his Chucks.

By the time Stiles had his shoes on, Derek had grabbed his jacket and finished his PopTarts. Stiles swiped his keys off the counter, then glanced at Derek.

“Your Jeep is a death trap. Camaro.” Derek said, guiding Stiles out of the apartment so he could lock up.

“You owe your life to that Jeep, like, eight times over,” Stiles argued, twirling his keys on a finger.

“And last week it broke down in the middle of traffic,” Derek said, his tone agreeable. “Camaro.” 

Stiles grumbled agreement and Derek pretended not to have heard the mixed profanities.

He started the Camaro while Stiles grabbed his bat out of the Jeep, tossing it into the back of the Camaro as he slid in.

Derek pulled out of his driveway and made the twists and turns to take them to the other side of town, where CR-59 would lead them to their investigation.

“Seriously, dude,” Stiles said, a few minutes into the drive. “If you aren’t detouring to grab me coffee, I’m finding the first creepy-ass bed in that house and going back to sleep. Three isn’t an hour that should be associated with anything but sex or Call of Duty.” He paused. “Possibly both.”

Derek snorted, but brought the Camaro through the McDonald’s drive-thru. Stiles ordered his coffee and a breakfast sandwich, ignoring Derek’s no-food-on-the-leather policy in an unconcerned flourish only he could pull off.

Derek peeled out of the parking lot and got back onto the road that would lead them to CR-59. 

Once they were on CR-59 and the road had turned to gravel beneath them -- Derek was willing to admit, if only to himself, that the Jeep might have been a better bet -- he flipped his attention back to Stiles, who had dropped his wrapper on the floor and was clinging to his coffee like it was the Holy Grail.

Stiles was radiating a combination of excitement and nerves. Derek waited.

A few moments later, Stiles asked, “Did dad say anything specific? Like, moaning sounds, random lights, evil squirrels?”

Derek grinned at Stiles. “He said it was just a disturbance, but that it’s not the first time someone’s called one in for the place.”

“What’s even out there? Do you know?”

“Just a bunch of land and old, abandoned barns and farmhouses, I guess.”

CR-59 was a long strip of backroad that made up the boundary between the Beacon Hills and Trinity Counties. The Sheriff had texted Derek the address, and he knew the property had to be on the Beacon Hills side of the road.

Stiles bounced a knee, glancing out the window. “Do we know which house it is?”

“It’s 11568,” Derek said. “Probably a farmhouse. It’ll be on the right.” He paused, squinting into the distance. “I don’t think it’s far.” 

“Yeah?” Stiles asked. “Spidey senses tingling?”

Derek rolled his eyes and clapped a hand down on Stiles’ knee. “I can hear it. Faintly. It sounds _wrong_ , like fingernails on a chalkboard, but lower-pitched.” Derek proved himself right in a few hundred yards, when they pulled up next to a weathered mailbox proclaiming, “Milton” above 11568. Derek pulled into the drive, then came to a stop as a “NO TRESPASSING” sign, hung on a pair of closed gates, blocked their path.

He looked over at Stiles, who was frowning. “What?” Derek asked, settling the car to idle. 

Derek shrugged, then rolled down his window. He and Stiles flinched as one when the _sound_ , whatever it was, came sharply into the Camaro. “Maybe they drove past with the windows down,” Derek said, rolling the window back up.

“Who called in a disturbance?” Stiles asked. “The last house we passed was like a mile away.” He waved a hand in the general direction of what, in the Camaro’s headlights, looked to be a pretty normal farmstead, two silos and the top of a barn rising above the grove separating the property from the road. 

“What even _is_ that, jesus,” Stiles breathed.

“My guess?” Derek said, turning off the car and releasing his seat belt. “Probably what we’re here to look into.” 

Stiles reached an arm over the console to punch Derek in the shoulder. “Yeah, got that, thanks.” 

Derek reached over Stiles to the glove compartment, pulled out a flashlight, and dropped it in Stiles’ lap.

Derek cracked the door, wincing again as the sound echoed around them. He got out of the Camaro slowly, shutting the door softly behind him. As he walked around the car to the gate, he listened to Stiles doing the same.

When Stiles switched the flashlight on, Derek muttered, “Keep the flashlight low. We don’t need to draw attention to ourselves.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and lowered the flashlight, stepping around the gate and into the grove that ran up against it. “Yes, because this is the first time I’ve wielded a flashlight against the forces of evil.”

Derek chuckled softly. “I’m just remembering the last time you forgot.” He ignored Stiles’ scoff of protest. “Watch your step.”

“That’s a stupid saying, ‘Watch your step’. If I’m looking at my feet, I can just run into--” Stiles yelped as he pitched forward. Somewhere above them, an air horn blared deafeningly. The noise they’d been following cut off abruptly.

Derek lunged forward to catch Stiles before he hit the ground. Derek felt something press into his shoulder as he caught Stiles’s arm, pulling him back to his feet. A light powder fell over both of their heads, and a powerful stench assaulted Derek’s nose. “Oh, god.” He covered his face, coughing.

Stiles untangled his foot and straightened up, pulling out of Derek’s grasp and using his bat like a cane. “Is this-- garlic powder?” He rubbed his fingers through the powder dusting his shirt.

“Yeah.” Derek shook his head. His ears were ringing, and now he couldn’t smell a thing.

Stiles plucked at whatever Derek had run into: a thin, nearly invisible wire. “This is a trip wire. What the fuck?”

“Stiles. Check your phone.”

Stiles huffed and pulled the phone out, flicking the screen on while still examining the wire. He dragged his attention away and glanced at his phone. “Dad texted me a few more details: complaints about loud bangs, wailing, explosions.” He flicked an exasperated look at Derek. “Maybe it’s a ghost.”

“A ghost who sets trip wires.” Derek put his hand on the wire. “Here, step under it.”

Stiles ducked under. “Ugh, this garlic stinks.” He glanced at Derek’s face and snickered. “I’m guessing it’s a little worse for you.”

“Just a bit,” Derek said dryly. His ears were still ringing a little from the horn, too. Being unable to hear or smell properly was making him uneasy. The grove they’d stepping into extended well into what had once been the driveway, and where there weren’t trees, there was tall, overgrown grass and brambles. 

Stiles tucked his phone away and started sweeping the grass ahead of him with his bat. “It’s like Pokémon. Gotta be careful in the tall grass.”

“I choose you.”

“Nerd.”

Derek didn’t bother answering. He was keeping an eye on the space at chest height, careful of more wires at that level. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t smelled the garlic before they’d tipped it over their heads, but, he reasoned, they’d eaten pizza the night before. The scent was still clinging to Stiles’ day-old clothes. He would’ve dismissed any faint garlic scent automatically. Still, he felt he should’ve noticed it.

Stiles elbowed him lightly. “Look. What the hell _is_ this?”

There was another wire hidden in the grass.

Derek looked up; something glimmered in the tree branches above them. “Is that a mirror?”

Stiles turned the flashlight up at it. “Um. Yeah. Look, before this trap-laying psycho makes lampshades out of our skin, I have to say something.”

Derek looked at him.

He sucked in a deep breath. “I like your butt and fancy hair.”

“Step over the wire,” Derek instructed, fighting a laugh. “No one’s going to make lampshades out of our skin.”

“Yeah, says the _werewolf_ who can fight off skin-peeling crazies one handed.”

Derek put his hand over Stiles’s face and pushed lightly, making Stiles laugh. “Go. There are no skin-peeling crazies.”

Stiles stepped over the wire and started poking his bat around again. “That’s the comforting pep talk I want to hear from my lover!”

Derek’s face twitched. “Did you just call me--”

“Paramour. Bae.” He grinned over his shoulder at him. “We had sex and pizza, it’s set in stone.” He poked through the grass and took another step, walking on the balls of his feet. He’d really been around supernaturals too long.

Derek sighed and caught up. The coffee had obviously kicked in. “This isn’t a Harlequin novel.”

“Of course not,” Stiles scoffed. “We’d have paused to ravish each other in the car if it was.” He scratched his nose. “I wouldn’t mind, you know, having a name for--this.” He shrugged. “If you wanted to give it one.”

Derek concentrated on Stiles’s tone, the set of his shoulders, and said, “This probably isn’t the best time. We can have dinner with your dad on Sunday. Decide what to call it then.” He saw Stiles’s mouth curve with a smile and couldn’t help smiling back. Something gleamed as Stiles took a step. His heart lurched and he grabbed the back of Stiles’ shirt, yanking him back a step. “Look.”

Stiles wobbled briefly before setting his foot back down.

Stretched between several trees were wires thicker than the others they’d run into, all around chest height. A glance up revealed lighters and cans of hairspray, rigged to blow fire down on whoever tripped the wire.

Derek tasted ash on his tongue and his gums throbbed, but he said, evenly, “Let’s go around. _Slowly_.”

The grass was even higher away from the path they’d been following, but was thankfully free of flame traps.

“Okay, this is getting less ridiculous and more-” Stiles pitched forward, light arcing through the air as the flashlight flew out of his hand and out of sight. It winked out when it landed, somewhere to the left. “Just a rabbit hole.” He made a face and pushed himself up, unbalanced with one foot trapped in the ground.

Derek helped steady him. “Want me to lift you out?” Derek paused. “Lover?” He snorted at the horrified face Stiles made.

“Yeah, okay, that’s definitely out.” Stiles started to tug on his leg. “ _Ow!_ Son of a bitch, ow, what the hell is that?”

“What?” He reached for Stiles’s leg.

“Don’t!” He squeezed his arm. “There’s something sharp in there.” His face was blank, but the tightness around his eyes and mouth suggested he was in pain.

“Did you get cut?”

“Maybe a little.”

Of course, all Derek could smell was freaking _garlic_ , so he couldn’t tell if he was bleeding or not. He crouched down. Stiles’s foot was caught just past the ankle.

“All right, don’t move.” Derek prodded at the hole, testing the edges. “Where does it hurt? All around? Or front and back?”

“Front and back.” Stiles wobbled, then hissed in pain.

“Hold onto my shoulders.” Once his hands settled, Derek dug his hands into the dirt around his foot. He yanked, feeling the ground crumble around his claws. He dug deeper, breaking it apart until he could see sharpened wooden spikes set in the hole, angled downward. One had ripped Stiles’s jeans above his shoe and cut the skin, but thankfully he hadn’t kept pulling. If he had, the ones in the back probably would’ve shredded his Achilles tendon. “Okay, I’m going to break these.”

Stiles squeezed his shoulders.

He snapped the stakes until Stiles could safely get his foot out. He braced Stiles’ shoe on his thigh, rolling his jeans up to check the cut. It wasn’t very big, but it was bleeding sluggishly. “Hurt?”

“Not really. It’ll stop in a minute.” Stiles shook his pant leg back down and straightened up. “Any idea where the flashlight went?”

“Over here. Hang on, I’ll get it. Don’t move.” Derek had to step over two more holes to get to it, and he could see three others in the grass around them. He flicked the flashlight’s switch a couple times, but the light wouldn’t come on.

“Awesome,” Stiles breathed. He grabbed his bat where he’d dropped it and swiped a hand over his face. “All right. I can just use the flashlight on my phone.”

“There are more holes like that.” Derek looked ahead, brows furrowed. “Save your phone battery. I’ll walk ahead, and you can just follow my path.”

Stiles tugged on his hand before he could step away; when he turned, Stiles swayed into his space and brushed a kiss over his mouth.

He pulled him closer and deepened the kiss just a little, just enough. In Derek’s life, since Paige, kissing had been a prologue, the opening act to the big show. With Stiles, it felt more like him saying _hi_ , or _I’m glad you’re here_ , or just kissing for kissing’s sake. It was nice. It was new.

Stiles grinned against his mouth. “I’d swoon, but you nixed the harlequin idea.” He winked. “Okay, lead on, big guy.” Stiles patted Derek’s chest.

As they walked, Stiles stuck so close that Derek could feel his breath ghosting across the back of his neck. It should have been annoying, but it just made him shiver. He forced himself to focus on the ground, making sure they didn’t stumble into any more of the traps. He counted twelve of them total in the tallest grass. “I don’t see any more,” he said as they stepped into shorter grass. He glanced over his shoulder. “We’re probably-” He felt something catch and give under his shoe as he stepped and swore. Something popped, and bright white light flared in front of him, piercing and blinding. He jerked away and knocked into Stiles, who braced his hands on Derek’s back to keep him upright.

“It’s just a flare, it was a trip-flare,” he chattered, letting Derek retreat a few steps. He turned him around carefully.

Derek blinked a couple times, squeezing his eyes closed and trying again for good measure. “I can’t see.” There was a beat where all he could hear was the hiss-fizz noise of the flare at his back and Stiles’s hummingbird-quick heartbeat.

“How bad is it?” Stiles’ voice was low and even.

“I can sort of see out of my peripherals, but everything else is black spots.” He heard Stiles swallow.

“Awesome. Okay. I’ll walk ahead and use my phone flashlight. Just hold onto my shoulders.”

He shook his head. “Maybe we should just head back. We can investigate more in the daylight, when we can both see.”

Stiles snorted. “With you blinded, I might end up leading us into those spike traps we just got out of. Plus, now I want to kick some ass.” Stiles moved; Derek automatically turned with the sound. “Here.” Stiles took his wrists and set Derek’s hands on his shoulders. “I’ll use my phone, and I’ll go slowly. Let me know when your vision comes back.”

“Right.” He tried not to squeeze Stiles’s shoulders too hard, but he was anxious: all he could smell was the garlic he was covered in and now he couldn’t see anything. What good was he here?

“All right, we’re just going to veer a little bit left here.” Stiles’s bat tapped something with a little twang.

Derek kept blinking and squeezing one eye shut, then the other, as they walked, trying to clear his vision. He tried flicking his eyes around, but it didn’t help. The black spots _were_ fading, just not quickly enough for his tastes.

He didn’t know if he’d seen it out of the corner of his eye, or if he heard it whistling through the air, but he shot his arm out instinctively, catching whatever was flying at them with clawed hands.

“Holy Christ,” Stiles breathed.

Derek blinked and found his vision cleared enough to see again. His claws were dug into the bark of a log, suspended horizontally over the ground. He glanced at Stiles, wide-eyed. On its current path, it’d have slammed into his shoulder and probably thrown him several feet, maybe even broken his back.

“What the fuck is this?” Stiles seethed. “What the hell is that? A _swinging log_? What the actual fuck, Derek!”

“Hawthorn,” Derek murmured. He shook his head. “I don’t get it, either. Good thing your dad didn’t send any deputies, though. I don’t think they’d have caught this.”

“Yeah, no.” Stiles stepped carefully out of its path, looking both ways before he moved further. “Nice catch, though. Thanks.”

Derek pried his claws free and walked around it. “Don’t mention it.” He stared at the log for a long moment before turning to follow Stiles. Something caught his eye and he nodded. “Look. That’ll be the house where the noises were coming from.” A two-story colonial stood about fifty feet in front of them, barely visible through the dark, even with Derek’s better vision.

Stiles grimaced at it. “Great. Smell anything?”

“Garlic.”

“Ah. Perfect.” Stiles gave Derek a commiserating look, then turned back to the house.

On longer inspection, the house was a little old and unkempt, maybe. In need of repairs, but Derek had seen worse. Derek had _lived_ in worse.

There was the rest of the grove and some more tall, uncut grass between them and the house, with any number of traps possibly hidden amongst the growth.

“Okay,” Stiles said. “I’m just gonna go. And you’ll have to get me out of whatever it is.”

“I should go, since I can heal,” Derek argued, scowling.

“We’re not gonna do the ‘me!’ ‘no, me!’ thing.” Stiles looked amused. “Rock-paper-scissors? Or do you have a quarter to flip?”

Derek crossed his arms.

Stiles grinned.

Derek huffed.

Stiles laughed.

“Fine,” he bit out. “Rock-paper-scissors. You are _actually_ a third grader.”

“I prefer the term ‘young at heart,’ but whatever works.” Stiles leaned his bat against his leg and lifted his hands. “On three.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Fine. One, two—three.” He picked rock—and Stiles played paper.

Stiles smirked. “I win. Don’t let me die.”

“That’s stupid. Paper shouldn’t beat a rock.”

“Don’t pout.” Stiles smacked a kiss against his cheek and picked up his bat.

Derek kept a close eye on him, leaning forward on his toes. He was braced to leap and pull him back if he had to, watching for anything that might come flying at his head or lighting on fire. His fingers twitched against his legs.

Stiles prodded through the grass with the bat, not that it’d helped him too much so far. He nodded with each successful step forward, giving him the absurd look of some large, plaid-patterned bird. “You know, there’s probably a snake pit, or maybe a hole with stakes at the bottom or something, and how would I--”

“Oh my god.” Derek marched over and stopped him. “There actually _could_ be, don’t jinx it. Whatever this is, it’s clearly not afraid to hurt people.”

Stiles tried to shake him off. “We’ve dealt with worse. Plus, I was only kidding. Wouldn’t you have heard if there were snakes?” Stiles took a step to the side, Derek stepping away with the intention to guide him back to relative safety, and then everything went to shit.

Something hit the bend of Derek’s knee and he toppled backwards, where something else caught his wrist and another wire braced behind his back.

Stiles fell with him, letting out a sharp yelp, then a frustrated huff. “Well, this is _definitely_ better than just me falling.”

Derek turned to glare at him and felt his leg slip; the wire had more slack than he’d expected and it tangled around his ankle.

Stiles had one arm caught, with one ankle hitched up behind him. It was almost comical, except that his other hand was reaching out to steady himself--

“Stiles, _don’t_ ,” Derek snapped, but it was too late. The wire braced under Derek’s shoulders went slack and he flipped backwards. The wire holding his right ankle hooked upward and the one around his left arm went taut. His face was suspended three inches from the ground.

Stiles made a muffled noise.

Derek turned and saw him fighting not to laugh.

Whatever Derek’s face was doing had him trembling with suppressed mirth. “Oh, gee,” Stiles said, strained. “Sorry.” He swallowed gamely. “So, I’m thinking moving is a bad idea.”

“You _don’t say_.”

“Just—hang tight.” Stiles’ eyes danced with glee. He lifted his hand carefully from the wire that’d toppled Derek over. The wire on Stiles’s right ankle slackened slightly. “Hmm.” He twisted carefully, tracking each wire with a shrewd expression.

“Losing feeling here,” Derek complained.

“Shush, I’m figuring it out.” Stiles turned gradually, unwinding his caught ankle and setting his foot down.

Derek felt the wire on his own ankle loosen enough that he could pull it free. He braced it in the grass beneath him, taking some of the pressure off his arm and other leg.

“Here, put your right hand here.” Stiles pointed at a wire near Derek’s head.

“No. I’ll get more tangled.”

“You will not. I need weight on that one. You’re not the only one losing feeling, dude.” Stiles waggled the fingers of his caught arm, which were indeed turning purple.

Derek sighed and carefully braced his hand on the wire.

“Yeah, a little harder,” Stiles instructed.

Derek raised his eyebrows.

“Oh my god.” 

Derek smiled and applied more pressure to the wire.

Stiles let out a relieved breath and pulled his arm free. “Right. Now you. You can take your hand off that wire.”

“Oh, thanks so much.”

“I should leave your wolfy ass strung up like a tree ornament,” Stiles muttered, but with a thread of amusement in his voice. He stepped closer, putting a hand on Derek’s caught arm. He rubbed his shoulder briskly. “Okay, don’t panic, but it’s going to get tighter before it let’s go.” He reached up and pulled on something out of Derek’s line of sight.

The wire twisted and dug in; Derek clenched his jaw and waited.

Stiles carefully extended his leg and pushed down on a wire across from him.

The wire on Derek’s arm went slack. He sighed and pulled his arm free. “Thanks.” He reached out and snapped the one left on his leg. The wire cut into his palms, but they healed quickly enough.

Stiles shook his head. “My way didn’t involve blood,” he pointed out.

“My way was faster.” Derek turned and nearly ended up tangled again.

Stiles pulled him back by the shoulder, keeping a grip on him to hold him still. “Yeah, can’t go charging through. Whatever we hit, we activated all the wires. See?”

He followed his pointing hand. False dawn was breaking, giving everything a faint gray cast; it glimmered on crisscrossing wires, high, low, hidden in the grass underfoot and strung through the branches above them. “Then what do you suggest?”

“I suggest we go slow and watch our step.” Stiles ducked under two wires and stepped between another set. “See? It’s like being in one of those crazy bank robbery movies.”

“Aren’t those usually jewelry heists?”

“Wanna roleplay?” Stiles winked before ducking again, twisting under the next cluster of wires. “We can be cops and robbers.”

“No, thanks.” Derek tried to follow his path exactly, but found it turned out to be easier to form his own path with the wires he could see.

“Why not?”

“Your dad’s a cop, Stiles.”

Stiles grimaced. “Oh, gross, thanks.”

Derek smiled at him. “You’re welcome.”

They made it to the other side without getting tangled again, but disaster struck almost immediately after they’d cleared the wires.

“My fucking bat!” Stiles spun around, but the bat was on the far side of the tangle wires, where he’d dropped it when they first tripped.

“You can’t go back for it; you could get stuck again. We’re nearly there,” Derek said, putting his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and turning him back around to face the house.

Stiles clenched his fists, bouncing on his toes. He sighed. “Yeah, alright. Let’s get this over with.” He nodded sharply, steeling himself.

Derek tested the dilapidated steps first, then let Stiles follow him up.

“Just knock first,” Stiles suggested.

“After _all that_ , you want to knock?”

“After _all that_ , you want to surprise whatever lives here?” Stiles shot back.

Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed for the doorknob.

Stiles lunged forward to try to stop him; the door flew open under their combined weight.

Icy water dumped over their heads and _dear god it had more garlic in it_.

Stiles sputtered as something thumped on top of his head. He grabbed it and held it up so he could see. He spit a stream of water out. “Is this a rosary? Is this _holy water_?”

“ _Garlic_ holy water,” Derek groused. “I can’t smell a damn thing.” He tried to wipe his face on his shirt, but it just made the smell worse. He was starting to get a headache.

Stiles wiped his face and shook the rosary at Derek. “This is freaking weird.” He leaned sideways and frowned. “What the fuck is that?”

Derek turned.

There was an enormous wooden crate just beyond the door, wide and almost as tall as Stiles.

“We have to go look, don’t we?” Stiles sighed.

“You can stay back here.”

Stiles made a face at him. “Oh, like you did when you lost rock-paper-scissors?” He shook his head. “Let’s just go.”

They’d only taken two steps when another bucket dumped on them. Rice scattered over their heads and at their feet, sticking to their wet clothes and skin. They blinked at each other. Stiles picked a piece off Derek’s cheek and stared at it, pinched between his fingers.

“I don’t even right now.”

They moved together toward the box and peered into it. “What’s that at the bottom?”

“I don’t know. I can’t smell anything,” Derek grumbled. He sighed. “I’ll get in and look at it.”

Stiles caught his sleeve. “Looks like blood,” he said tersely.

Derek looked down again. Stiles was right; it _looked_ like a couple large bags of blood. His stomach turned. “Well,” he said steadily, “if it is, I’ll let you know.”

Stiles nodded tightly and let go.

Derek climbed onto the box. “Make sure you keep an eye out.”

“Duh.”

He let himself drop and crouched to look. The bags were filled with thick, dark red liquid, surrounded by a thin layer of soil. Derek pressed his nose against his wrist for a second, trying to clear the scent of garlic away, then turned back. He recoiled instinctively, a grimace twisting his mouth.

Stiles leaned over the edge of the box. “It’s blood, isn’t it? Oh my god! _Why?_ ”

“It’s--”

“Why is it blood?! That’s so _much_! What’s—what, did we interrupt its meal? Is it human? Derek. You need to tell me. _Is it human <_?”

“Stiles, it’s bovine! Something is wrong, I think-” The floor creaked behind Stiles.

Stiles’ eyes widened. Before Derek could react, Stiles was dangling over the box. “What-” Derek got out before Stiles was tumbling headfirst into the box -- and, consequently, Derek. He kicked Derek’s shoulder on the way down and landed, with unfortunate accuracy, on the bags of blood, which exploded with a wet _pop_!

Something slammed against Derek’s head. He stumbled to his knees, more dazed than hurt, and landed on Stiles’ shins. He hissed and jerked away.

The box went dark, and then something began hammering above them.

“Oh my god. Did he just nail us in?” Stiles was still sprawled on the floor of the box, sticky with blood and rice.

Derek snorted and twisted, punching through the side of the box.

While his arm was still sticking out, the box suddenly began moving. They crashed down a short flight of stairs and Stiles tumbled against him, knocking his head against Derek’s shoulder. “Sorry.” Stiles sat back. “Um. Would now be a bad time to mention that I think my phone fell out of my pocket when we were getting through the tangle wires?”

Derek closed his eyes, and took a breath. “It’s definitely not the best time, no,” he said. With the arm he still had sticking out of the box, Derek reached around. He felt nothing, so he withdrew his hand.

“I think we fell down the stairs,” Stiles said, smiling in that way that meant he knew he wasn’t being helpful.

Ignoring him, Derek tried to look out the hole he had made. All he could make out were shadows and what looked like concrete. “Let’s get out of this damn box,” he said, pulling back his knee to kick out the side he’d already damaged.

With the wall of the box gone, Stiles tumbled out onto the ground, landing on his tailbone with a yelp. “Warning!” Stiles said. He rolled out of the way so Derek could get out of the box, but not before shaking a finger in Derek’s direction.

Derek wobbled out of the box, catching himself on what were, in fact, concrete walls. He reached down to help Stiles to his feet, glancing back at the box. 

“We need to move that,” Stiles said, waving at the box. He was limping more noticeably now, favoring the ankle that had gotten caught earlier; falling down the stairs had exacerbated the injury. “To go back up the stairs, I mean.”

Derek nodded. “I can do it,” he said, turning to lean Stiles against the wall.

“Wasn’t questioning your muscles, dude,” Stiles said. When Derek turned to look at him, Stiles was peeling off his blood-covered flannel and using the mostly-clean side -- if they ignored the holy water and garlic soaked into it -- to wipe the gore off his face. He handed it to Derek, who did the same.

“Thanks,” Derek said. He handed the flannel back to Stiles, who dropped it on the floor like it might be a plague blanket. “It might be easier to tear the box apart a little more, then move it.”

Stiles gave a Vanna White gesture in the direction of the box. “Whatever you say.”

Derek tore another of the sides off the box before the whole thing collapsed and he was able to simply shove it out of the way. He heard Stiles huff behind him.

“I can’t see more than an inch in front of my face down here; would it have killed them to put in some windows?”

Derek made his way to the stairs and tested his weight against them. “I think this might have originally been a root cellar,” he said. “We’re completely underground.”

“Oh, good,” Stiles said. “That’s never not a bad sign.”

“Stiles, I can just go open the doors,” Derek said, reaching out to put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles jumped, then settled. 

“Can’t see you, dude,” Stiles said. “Give a guy some warning.”

Derek ran his hand along Stiles shoulder and up to his neck. “We’re fine. If we don’t show up back in town, your dad knows this is where we went. It’s almost dawn.”

“I don’t want my dad going through those traps!” Stiles shouted, bringing a hand up to curl around Derek’s forearm. 

“You can probably rest assured that he won’t,” Derek said. “I think we managed to spring them all.”

“Minus the gopher holes full of pain,” Stiles said.

“Minus the gopher holes full of pain,” Derek agreed. He let go of Stiles’ neck and turned back toward the stairs. “I’m just going to go open that door, and we’ll see how we can get out of here, all right?”

“Go forth and conquer,” Stiles said. Derek could hear Stiles sigh and drop his head back against the wall.

Derek made his way up the staircase, stepping gently in case he’d need to jump free suddenly. When he was at the top, he tried the doorknob. It was locked. “Well, we know we’re not alone,” he said, calling down to Stiles.

“Great,” Stiles said. “Peachy. I’m pretty sure the hands I felt shove me into that damn box gave that one away, but I’m glad you’re sure now.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I was just trying to give you an update, jackass.”

There was a pause. “Yeah, okay, fine,” Stiles finally said. “That’s very nice of you.”

“I’m going to try to kick the door open,” Derek said, taking his weight back down the stairs only as far as necessary. The door gave easily, but ran into something before it could swing all the way open. Derek shoved the door out of the way as much as he could, moving until he could feel what the door had run into. Whatever it was, it was wooden, heavy, and propped up with even more weight on the other side. Derek cursed.

“What?” Stiles asked. “Blind kid here.”

“There’s something blocking the doorway,” Derek answered. He ran his hands along the wooden surface he’d run into, then paused as his hands hit a very familiar shape. “What the hell?” he asked, sliding his hands until he ran into the shape again, and again, and again, all across the surface.

“Is it something you can’t beat your way through? Because if not, you can stare at it from the other side, thanks,” Stiles called.

“It’s covered in crucifixes,” Derek said, stepping back and frowning. “And no, I don’t think I can get through it.”

Before Stiles could reply, a voice called out from the other side of the barricade, “Of course you can’t, foul beast!”

Derek mouthed ‘foul beast’ while the voice continued. 

“You were clever to make it through my traps, but now you must admit defeat!”

The voice was haughty, but young. Derek stood still for a moment before he asked, “How old are you?” He could hear Stiles trying not to laugh in the background. Apparently they’d found their bad guy.

“My age matters not! You are defeated!”

“Wait,” Derek heard Stiles say. “The door is covered in crucifixes?”

Derek nodded before he remembered Stiles couldn’t see him. “Yeah,” he said.

“This kid dumped garlic on us, tried to stake my foot, dumped garlic holy water on us, left blood in a box, and nailed us into it?” Stiles started laughing outright. “Oh my god, he thinks we’re vampires!”

“You made a vampire trap?” Derek asked, loud enough for the kid to hear him through the _vampire trap_.

“Of course! How else could I hold your foul selves! And here you are, caught!”

“We’re not vampires,” Derek said. “Vampires don’t exist.”

“Exactly what a vampire would say!”

“He has a point,” Stiles called.

“If we’re vampires, how did we walk through your garlic holy water?” Derek asked, sighing loudly.

“Perhaps not every rumor is true! I, however, prepared against all of them, and my foresight has paid off! You are--” the kid’s voice cut off. Derek heard, “Wait, who are-- Ah! Stop it!” before it went silent.

After a few moments, a different voice called out, “Derek? Stiles?”

“Cora?” Derek asked, scowling in the direction her voice had come from. 

“Duh,” Cora said. “What the fuck are you doing in there?”

“Being trapped!” Stiles yelled. “Let us out!”

Derek heard Cora mutter, “Fucking useless--” before the screech of wood on wood drowned it out.

Once he felt the pressure on the other side of the barricade ease, Derek shoved it forward. The bookcase -- as it happened to be -- fell flat onto the floor, letting in the dawn sunlight in an immediate, blinding glare.

“Oh, jesus!” Stiles yelled. “I’m going to get T-shirts made so maybe you’ll remember to _fucking warn a guy_!”

“Sorry,” Derek said flatly. 

Cora’s stepped into his line of sight on the other side of the now-horizontal bookcase. She was smirking.

“There were traps,” Derek said.

“Lots of traps!” Stiles added, having apparently regained enough eyesight to see Cora in all her mocking glory.

“Uh-huh,” Cora agreed, her smile widening.

“How did _you_ get through the traps?” Stiles asked. He pushed himself off the wall and made his way over to the stairs. 

Derek jumped off the landing to help him. He got one sour look before Stiles’ ankle buckled and Stiles let Derek help him up the stairs. 

Cora was still smiling when they reached the top of the stairs. 

“Seriously,” Stiles said, dropping himself onto the crucifix-covered back of the bookcase. “How are you not hurt at all? And also: why are you here?”

“Don’t knock a free rescue, Stilinski.” Cora shrugged. “I smelled the first trap you triggered when I got here,” Cora said. She shrugged. “So I went around and came in the back door. Genius here,” she nudged the until-then unnoticed teenager duct-taped to a chair to her right, “Only booby trapped the front and sides of the house.”

Stiles groaned. Derek turned to look at the would-be vampire hunter. “You know the police sent us out here, right?” he asked the kid.

The kid’s eyes widened and he shook his head violently.

“And that he’s the Sheriff's kid?” Derek pointed at the still-whining Stiles.

The kid shook his head even more violently.

“You guys are buying me breakfast for this,” Cora said. She pointed at Derek, then Stiles. “Good breakfast. Andy’s Diner.”

Derek raised his hands in surrender. “Fine,” he said. 

Stiles choked out a laugh. “Can we, I don’t know, get this wrapped before we buy out the diner? And seriously, Cora, why are you _here_?” He pointed at his ankle, which, when Derek looked it more closely, was obviously still bleeding. 

Cora grinned. “Your dad called. Said you might need back-up.”

“What, after he called us?” Derek asked.

“No, probably around the same time. I just didn’t get the message til I woke up,” Cora said. She pointed a finger at them. “You’re lucky some loud-ass bird ran into my window; I was planning on sleeping until lunch.”

“I’m so sorry we interrupted your sixteen hours of sleep,” Stiles said. He rolled his eyes, then snorted again. “Did you follow the weird noise?”

Cora’s eyebrows furrowed. “What weird noise?”

Stiles gestured around the house. “You know, the nail-on-chalkboards thing? Coming from over here somewhere?”

“Yeah, didn’t hear anything,” Cora said.

“It stopped when we set off the first trap,” Derek reminded.

“Right,” Stiles agreed. He turned to look at the trussed-up kid. “What the hell was that?” 

The kid gave him a wide-eyed look and shook his head.

“So not a trap?” Stiles asked. “Some kind of lure?”

The kid shook his head again.

Stiles let out another little burst of laughter. “Right, so that mystery remains.” He looked around the house. “Nope. Not dealing with it. Station, hospital, breakfast. Maybe not in that order.” He shook his head and laughed a little more. 

Derek gave Stiles a once-over; he didn’t look like he was upset, and his laughter was real mirth. A little more of the stress that had built up relieved itself. Derek took a deep breath, then immediately coughed.

Goddamn garlic.


End file.
